Jennifer Horseman (36 page)

Juliet fell into a trancelike state of the deepest relaxation. At first no thoughts interrupted this peace, but gradually her thoughts centered on the haunting melody of the lovely song. The lullaby triggered memories of days long ago until the image of her mother and the admiral emerged in her mind's eye.

Did she truly look like her mother? She always thought of her mother as being so terribly beautiful. How strange ...As she had grown, she began to see a strange sadness, a thing felt rather than seen those many times when her mother caught a man admiring her. As if beneath an acknowledging smile lay a troubling thought ... a sadness or regret or even . . . contempt.

Contempt? She tried to make sense of the feeling. Once her mother said, "Most men never search beneath appearances, which is why a woman's beauty becomes so important. The trick, my darling, is in finding a man who seeks out and touches the deepest part of your heart. . . ."

The deepest part of her heart . . . The thought made her think of Garrett, how he always sought the deepest part of everything. So many times Garrett probed one question deeper to find the heart of an issue or to lead someone ever closer to a meaningful truth. Whether it was looking at little beasties beneath the scope or at the universe with the telescope, whether he was discussing philosophy or helping Leif understand why Leif felt such animosity toward his newest son-in-law, Garrett always traveled toward the greater truth. The characteristic revealed itself in all things, even silly things, like when Garrett explained to a roomful of bellowing men why they thought a joke was so amusing, only to have the explanation be far more poignant, more bone-ticklingly humorous, than the original joke. Yes, in everything Garrett always found that level of meaning, deeper than thought, that holds the truth.

Yet this was true of everything and everyone but herself, for she had given that deepest part of her heart to Tomas, and it was Tomas who cherished it, her, the hopes and dreams of their future. No, Tomas was not the man Garrett was—who could be?—but just as Tomas loved the deepest part of her, she loved the deepest part of him too —

"Who do you belong to?"

The question sounded so loudly in her mind as to cause a quick tensing one meaningful second before Garrett clapped his hands and dismissed the women for the evening in Arabic. The sky blue silk gown dropped over her back as they made a quiet exit. All peace dissipated the moment she heard his voice and she sat up, careful to hold the silk gown over herself.

Garrett sat on the bed, his long legs stretched in front of him, a half-eaten pear in his hand. He wore only black breeches, that was all, his clothes were nowhere in sight. "Garrett," his name came in a whisper as she tried to meet his gaze. A dangerous thing, for she felt his gaze penetrate her being and her heart, triggering its sudden unnatural pounding. "How . . . how long have you been here?"

"Long enough," was all he said, all he had to say as he tossed the pear into the fruit bowl and rose. Something ominous and frightening radiated from him. She tried to swallow and look away but she couldn't; for some reason his gaze held her still. "Tell me, love," he asked in a rich whisper as he moved to her, "why would a young woman who just saved the world from incalculable doom now look guilty?"

Guilty? She tried to shake her head, to deny it, but she stopped. He could not read her thoughts, she told herself for the hundredth time.

The question made her look even more guilty and he released his breath in a soft chuckle. He held her image—her slender form draped in blue silk, the rosy hue of her bathed skin and the silken stream of her impossibly long hair falling over her back to coil on the floor behind her, and the fear in her wide eyes—a fear she didnt even understand yet ...

Garrett's eyes did not waver as he lay down in front of her, stretching his long legs and leaning casually on his side. She had seen him naked a hundred times or more— he being totally impervious to his body—and she did not know why she was so unnerved now, seeing the wide breadth of his chest and shoulders, the well-exercised muscles of his arms, but she was. Those remarkable dark eyes laughed at her, though the handsome face remained impassive to the calamitous effect he was creating.

"Were you indulging in disloyal thoughts or was it dishonest ideas, love?"

She studied his gaze for but a moment. The question made no sense unless he had read her thoughts. She could hardy breathe with him so close, staring at her so, yet alone begin to weigh the consequences of answering that question. She could not explain her nervousness, a nervousness that escalated as she suddenly saw how she must look to him, kneeling and frightened, the thin silk draped over her, and beneath the heat of his gaze she felt herself flushing, as if drawn ever closer to a raging fire. If he but touched her once—

She clutched the cloth tighter, lowering her eyes with shame, as if she had betrayed Tomas in her thoughts already—and she hadn't, she hadn't. Why should Tomas ever be paired with guilt? Confused, flushed, she didn't know what he was doing to her and she tried to think of Tomas instead—

"Dont."

She looked up with a slight gasp. With an indefinable tension, mounting, growing, he finally reached a hand to her face. She raised her eyes with a question, perhaps a plea, and grabbed his hand. His hand felt large, strong, almost hot to the touch. "Garrett, you're scaring me—"

"I know, love."

She started to shake her head but he abruptly rose. He stepped to the water, shrugged out of his breeches, and lowered himself. The water circled his chest and for one strange moment he seemed to disappear completely in the rising steam. "Come here, love."

She started to shake her head again but stopped. A montage of ideas stopped her, or so she tried to reason: the consequences of disobeying or the idea that no one, least of all herself, was in a position to disobey him, that her experience taught her it was always far easier to comply with him. Yet the compelling force, what made her obey, was something else, something many worlds removed from thought. Thinking he wanted her to bathe with him, and knowing she couldn't, wouldn't, she draped the gown over her head before she rose.

The sheer loose folds slid over her skin to the floor. Acutely conscious of the transparency, she modestly crossed her arms over herself as she came to stand at the pool's edge. He said nothing for what seemed an eternity as he studied her standing there, firelight silhouetting her slender form. She felt confused, as if she existed only for him and his pleasure as the object of his desire. She desperately struggled to rally her defenses against this, an effort that shattered as he reached for her hand, drawing her down to her knees before him.

He brought her small hand to his lips. He closed his eyes and drank the sweet scent, revelling in her softness as he lightly brought each fingertip to his mouth. Her senses heightened and she closed her eyes as shivers, a thousand shivers, raced up her arm. She shook her head but his lips stopped on her ring finger and it tightened and tightened until—

She cried with sudden pain. She pulled her hand back and looked at him, her eyes shimmering with unleashed tears. "Garrett, Garrett," she cried in a frightened whisper as she tried to remove the ring from her finger, but the harder she tried, the tighter it felt. "What are you doing to me? I feel so strange, like a dream—"

The cruel light of his amusement reached her soul. She started trembling. She wanted to run away, irrationally, she knew she had to run or—

"All of life's a dream," he said simply. "Where the dreamer chooses the dream. You are tired, love." He took her hand and as he stared into her eyes, he kissed her finger. All pain dissipated as he did. "Go to sleep. I will wake you when it's time."

She stared at him with incomprehension. How strange! The only thing she didnt feel was tired, yet the moment he said it she thought it must be true. She was imagining the inexplicable tension, the reason she was afraid. . . . Yes, her fear and confusion owed itself to how tired she felt. The excitement had depleted her resources. . . .

She nodded, slowly at first then vigorously, rising and almost running to the bed as if it might somehow provide sanctuary. She stood staring at it, though, seeing it for the first time. She looked back at him. "Will . . . Garrett, will you sleep here too?"

She turned at the sound of his laughter. "No, love," he said softly as if making a promise. "I will not sleep there."

Those words brought little relief. She looked back at the bed, trying to reassure herself. He wasn't sleeping there and no matter what else, hadn't he taught her to trust him? She had slept with him for two fortnights and nothing had ever happened in her sleep with the exception of ... dreams.

"All of life is a dream where the dreamer chooses . . ." The thought echoed in her mind, warning her as she laid down. Yet almost instantly she was asleep.

"Wake up, Juliet. I want you."

The rich timbre of his voice echoed in her dreams. She felt afraid, and even in the dreamy haze she tried to deny him. A thing not possible tonight. She heard his low chuckle, before a sudden heat bathed her. The hot warmth spread through her limbs and pulsated with the escalating beat of her heart and pulse, her blood rushing with fire. The fire of his desire.

She opened her eyes, dazedly trying to adjust to the darkened light, and slowly sat up, bringing the thick quilt with her as she did so. She felt afraid even before she saw him. He sat at the head of the bed, leaning against satin cushions. The flames of the torchlight danced behind him, casting him in darkness, his shadow falling over her eyes. Thick tears gathered in her eyes and throat. She swallowed the salty, hot moisture and shook her head, a futile attempt to deny his power.

His soft chuckle was a comment on the idea of her resistance. "Come here, love. I have waited long enough."

She tried to shake her head but found she could not. The effort to resist caused a shudder that made her gasp7 As soon as the effort died, she felt an overwhelming compulsion to obey. As if to reward her, the compulsion brought another voluptuous burst of warmth tingling through her. She could not resist, she tried but—

This was only a dream, she told herself, only a dream. It could not really be happening! A dream, she knew as she felt herself moving slowly to him. For he could not do this to her, he could not—

The outline of his form remained dark in the shadow of firelight. She could not look at him as she knelt before him. Hot tears gathered beneath lowered lashes. She kept her arms crossed protectively over herself. The heat of his gaze made her forget to breathe as he reached a hand to her hair, brushing it off her shoulders.

She felt his finger slowly trace a line over her mouth. She trembled beneath his touch as his other hand caressed the delicate line of her neck and shoulders, toying briefly with the thin gold strings of her gown above her crossed arms.

"An offering fit for the gods. I feel as though I've waited a lifetime for you, Juliet," he whispered, banishing the tenderness her pose solicited, wanting none of that tonight. The callused tips of his fingers brushed the petal satin of her skin above her breast, over and over until a hot congestion gathered there and each breath came with conscious effort. She kept her arms crossed over herself, but the heat beneath the steady stroke of his fingers grew and grew until she felt herself swaying.

She opened her eyes as she instinctively braced her hands against the wide width of his shoulders, "Garrett . . . Garrett, I don't know—" She stopped as her gaze dropped to the magnificent boldness of his body, which then made him chuckle, a cruel, ominous sound. She closed her eyes, confused and scared, just scared. Dear God, what was happening? How was he doing this to her? She started to pull away—

"Don't, love."

Don't . . . don't echoed in her mind and she held perfectly still. His large hands spanned her sides just under her arms. She felt the heat of his gaze brush her breasts beneath the sheer blue silk of her gown. With the innocence of flowers absorbing sunlight, her breast swelled against the thin fabric of the gown with each breath, straining for his touch. Her heart pounded violently and her breaths came in small quick gasps, escalating as with a touch like fire that reached to her foot. Taking the silk cloth with him, his caress moved slowly up her leg. Chills erupted in a hot tingling pleasure. With pain and surprise, she arched toward him as his hands cupped the curve of her buttocks. The caress was light, taunting, purposeful. A gush of warmth rushed between her thighs, followed by something awful and frightening. "No . . . no," she whispered in a plea, "I don't know what's happening. ... I can't let you do this to me."

As if he hadn't expected her words, she first felt his surprise but then he only laughed at her. "A fallacy, love, a lie. It's not just that you can't stop me but you don't want to." The words were said in a whisper as his hands caressed the curves of her waist and back and she gasped with shivers and warmth. "Shall I show you, love?"

She tried to shake her head and when she couldn't, his amusement mixed potently with his desire as he withdrew from her. Leaning back against the satin cushions of the head board, he let her fear build until he said what she simply could not believe. "Straddle me, love."

She stared aghast, meeting the dark light of his gaze until she felt mesmerized by it, by him, drawn by an inexplicable force she could neither name nor understand. The more she tried to focus on fighting it, the more elusive the idea became until . . . the thought of refusing disappeared altogether, replaced by strange desires, primitive and powerful, rising through her, growing like an intoxication. The desire to comply became an irresistible need.

With dreamy awareness, she slipped her leg over him,' lowering her weight until she felt the course hairs of his thighs on her bottom and he owned her weight. Consciousness fixed on his hard, hot shaft but inches from the soft swell of her sex. His hands rested on her hips. The heat built beneath the suggestive tease of his fingertips there. He watched her with impassive features but his eyes were laughing.